


all my roads lead to you

by feralphoenix



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya and Vriska talk, one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my roads lead to you

You watch through the cracked lenses of the shades, stare hard at the pale shape of Rose Lalonde sitting cross-legged at her computer, brow furrowed, ebon lips pursed, intent on the white cue ball in her hands. You watch as the viewport slowly fades to total darkness, a blackness that not even your new rainbow drinker’s glow can penetrate.

And then you take off Equius’ dark glasses and turn around. Vriska Serket is standing there.

She is rumpled and disheveled from having been blown across the room by your punch, hair in disarray, bright orange clothes twisted up. Everything about her godhood that might have been awe-inspiring or impressive has been wrenched back into her natural awkwardness—the side of her that she has only ever allowed you to see, and then only in her weakest of moments. Her cheek is coming up cerulean. She is holding her broken glasses in her hands, staring at them sadly.

You look at her, this girl who has been your aspiration, your frustration for so long that it feels like it has been forever. There are the dregs of resentment inside you, the old bitterness that she could never love you the way that you wanted—the feelings that allowed you to be patient with the boy who you just cut in half with your lipstick (the boy who killed you, who may have doomed you all). But other than that, you feel very little. She is just a silly girl you know, dressed in very silly clothes. Orange was never her color.

You are not Eridan Ampora, and you think that it is perhaps time to accept that Vriska cannot be what you wish for her to be. That you must accept that she cannot give you what you wanted from her.

It’s not enough to just decide that you are done with the things that hurt you. It is merely time to move on. Everyone has an important job to do, and it was never really your job to languish over this girl.

That does not, however, mean that you are in the mood for one of Vriska’s tantrums or sulks, and so you prepare yourself to abscond.

But before you can turn around, Vriska captchalogues the broken glasses, sighs, and touches her face ruefully. “I probably deserved that.”

You can hear the eights in enunciated in every single B from her lips. That isn’t unusual. It is her words—her almost uncharacteristic acceptance of blame—that hold you in your place.

What happens then is even stranger still. Vriska stares at you—squints—and frowns. “Kanaya, are you okay?”

“Vriska,” you respond in measured tones, “do I look to you as though I am in any form of distress whatsoever?”

She continues to frown—she never has liked it when you get overly verbose, your moirail. “You _look_ fantastic. You always look fantastic! That’s just a thing that you _do_ , because it’s a thing that you _are,”_ and she stops herself to breathe; “but killing people sucks, no matter what they’ve done, and you are waaaaaaaay too fussy to let grubsauce get all over your clothes. We both know that I’m a dumb flighty broad, but I still know blood when I see it!”

You do not respond. You just take in the sight before you as if mesmerized: Vriska is showing concern for you. Openly, without qualifying her words immediately afterwards. Without any fear that someone might think less of her for not seeming ruthless for a fraction of a second.

Vriska is still frowning, perhaps because you haven’t responded yet. “Look, Maryam, you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to! But I still want to know whether or not you’re okay. After all the meddling you’ve done with me, I should at least be able to return the favor!”

Someone has, you realize, done for this girl what you should have been able to do perigees ago. The change is so stark that you feel a little like you are standing across from a complete stranger, and you wonder if Vriska feels the same way about you.

There is something strange and wondrous—dare you say, _miraculous_ —about this, and before you realize it you have begun to smile.

“Yes,” you say, and again: “Yes. I am quite well. I believe that I will be quite all right.”

“Oh,” Vriska replies, and you think that the way she sinks into herself might be relief; “good.”

You reach out and you hug her close.

The two of you stand there, chest to chest, for quite some time; you are careful not to stain her clothing with your blood. Vriska is made out of angles as usual, but there is something less harsh about the way that she holds you. It makes you happy and sad at the same time.

She pulls back first—from the way she rolls her shoulders, she was uncomfortable standing still—and you just stand there, both silent, familiar strangers caught up in the same vague awkwardness.

“I will explain what happened,” you say, “but first I would like to gather the others. There is a lot for all of us to discuss.”

Vriska nods. She seems to be teetering on the edge of saying something, but when you wait and there is nothing, you begin to turn around.

“You were trying to check on Rose, weren’t you?” she blurts out all at once, and you cannot help but stare at her again. “When her screen blacks out. I can sense what’s going on with her just a little using my Light powers and my vision eightfold, so while you’re getting everybody else I’m gonna make sure she’s okay.”

You smile again. “I would appreciate that very much.”

This time you do turn around and head for the stairs, and Vriska does not say anything to you to hold you back. When you glance over your shoulder at her, she has sat down and got out her computer, and she is making a sign at your back with her hands.

It’s not quite the right shape to be a diamond, you note as you descend and she vanishes from view.


End file.
